


Whiskey Straight

by CallMeCheerios



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #DrunkenKissesChallenge, Alcohol, Drinking, DrunkenKissesChallenge, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mentions of Hannibal Lecter - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 02:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7249042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeCheerios/pseuds/CallMeCheerios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When pride alone wasn’t enough to see you through until the next day, you rounded up your friends--Jack, Jim, and Johnnie--and took a sip for every demon that haunted you while you waited for the sun to rise and the shadows to sink. Because everyone knows the best kind of medicine is whiskey straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey Straight

**Author's Note:**

> There's not an actual pairing...it's wished for and thought about but not an actual thing.

His father had loved to say that the best kind of medicine was whiskey straight. It was the only words of wisdom Will had ever taken to heart without an unhealthy dose of skepticism. It didn’t matter that there were no answers to be found at the bottom of an empty bottle. Neither one of them have ever shown much aptitude for following that particular adage. It was simply part of their constitution and something both of them refused to acknowledge in the other. It was something they shared, much like the unspoken agreement that they were nothing alike. Their refusal to be similar hung heavy during prolonged and awkward silences back when they still tried to get along. In more recent years, it was what kept both men from picking up the phone and dialing seven simple numbers. It’s what kept Will half convinced that he too would have a heart attack, surrounded by boat motors and fishing gear and covered in grease. It was sheer stubbornness that allowed Graham Senior to see his 60s. That same stubbornness was like lead in Will’s own veins. Most days it was the only thing that kept him grounded, weighed down just enough to keep him from floating away from himself. Some days it wasn’t enough. 

Graham men were supposed to be stalwart--they persevered no matter what the cost. They trudged forward with little regard, not even a backwards glance at the shadows looming behind them. As long as you moved forward they shouldn’t be able to consume you. And standing still was the same as quitting. Graham men didn’t quit: they were too proud for that. Sadly pride wasn’t free. In fact it was the most valuable and precious thing a man could have. And when that alone wasn’t enough to see you through until the next day, you rounded up your friends--Jack, Jim, and Johnnie--and took a sip for every demon that haunted you while you waited for the sun to rise and the shadows to sink.

The problem with having just one glass, was that glasses were refillable. He’d meant to have one glass, sloppily poured in his haste, but he’d lost count at this point. Almost of its own volition, the liquor worked it’s way out of the glass and through him, one sip at a time. Now his whole body thrummed with the pleasant warmth that only alcohol could provide. He always felt the effects of booze first in his lips. There was a light tickle to begin with, the kind that prompted him to lick his lips and chase the sensation from right to left and back again. A few more sips, and they started to feel numb along with the tip of his nose and the pads of his fingers. His hands felt foreign as they slid across his face. They barely registered the scrape of his scruff against them. They felt even odder as they gently pulled at his tingling lips trying wipe away the overwhelming desire to press them against someone else’s. 

As the sun began to rise, he brought the glass up once more while contemplating the two fingers of liquid that remained. Will breathed in deep and pressed his lips to the rim of the glass. The flat surface felt surprisingly cool. The pressure was soothing, grounding in its own right but wasn’t enough. He closed his eyes and tried desperately not to think of the most perfect lips he’d ever seen. Plush and full, the upper lip composed of two smooth arches, meeting in a point at the center. He tried not to imagine what it would be like to run the tip of his tongue over the curve of that impossibly kissable pout. 

Will set the glass on the table, mourning the loss of it immediately. He stumbled to his feet, leaving the sanctuary of the couch behind him. He moved ungainly across the room, turning off lights as he went. He took a moment to drop an unsteady kiss on the heads of each of his dogs before collapsing on the bed. He could still feel their soft fur against his face and smiled softly as he pictured their tails wagging sleepily and the unbridled affection they shared so freely. 

The glass stayed on the table, a silent offering to the specters that had sat with him during the night.


End file.
